Full Moon
by G.Storm59
Summary: Yamamoto believes his life is nothing out of the ordinary. But when he finds a mysterious beaten up and unconscious man in an alleyway, that ordinary life disappears forever.
1. The Accident

Takeshi Yamamoto had never expected his life to be anything out of the usual. He looked the part of the Japanese stereotype; black hair that looked auburn in the light, brown eyes, tanned skin. He had a common name, he played professional baseball. Just your average guy.

But that all changed when he met Hayato Gokudera. That night was the one that changed his life forever.

Walking down the street after practice one night, Yamamoto stretched his arms in a rather cheerful mood. He'd had a good practice today; pitched past his speed record, all of his hits had been solid, and best of all he hadn't gotten injured! Yamamoto never took for granted that he hadn't been injured after a game or practice. After all, getting hit by an 80+ MPH fastball wasn't the most painless experience.

Looking casually to the side, Yamamoto happened to glance into a nearby alley. There was nothing unusual about the alley; it looked like every other alley on the block.

But something caught Yamamoto's eye.

There was a flash of silver, just visible over the top of one of the green trashcans. Usually, it could be assumed that it was just a scrap of metal that had fallen out of someone's recycling bin. But this wasn't the color of metal. It was a light and silky silver that held no resemblance to the harsh gleam of metal.

Peaking Yamamoto's interest, the baseball player changed his course of direction and made his way over to the piece of silver.

What he saw shocked him.

The silver was actually hair and it was attached to a man. But this man wasn't just lying in the alley because he felt like it; he was unconscious or maybe even dead. He had deep cuts and bruises all over his face and body, a deep gash on his forehead, a black eye, and his arm was bending in an angle that was not natural.

Rushing over to the man, knocking over some trashcans in the process, Yamamoto took the man's pulse. Thankfully, it was still beating strong. As soon as he knew the man was alive, Yamamoto knew he couldn't just leave him there.

Not caring what it looked like to the few pedestrians still walking along the streets nor how much blood he'd get on his sweat jacket, Yamamoto picked the man up bridal style. The man moaned slightly, making Yamamoto wince and hope he wasn't putting the other in too much pain. Well, at least he couldn't feel it since he was unconscious.

He carried the silver haired man down the street, heading in the direction of his home. He'd had the fleeting thought of taking the man to the hospital, but quickly canceled out the idea. If this man had been beaten to unconsciousness and almost close to death, as it looked, then he definitely didn't want to be found by the same people. Checking into the hospital would get the man's name on record when he regained consciousness. Also, if the man freaked out when he didn't know where he was, at least he wouldn't feel threatened by the restrains the hospital would probably put onto him.

And so, Yamamoto took the man to his house.

As he opened the door with some difficulty and managed to get inside to lay the bleeding man on his couch, he realized just how beautiful the man was. His silver hair was absolutely beautiful and it shined against the man's pale skin. Yamamoto suddenly had an insane urge to see the man's eyes; see how they matched against the rest of the man's beauty.

Well, one thing was for sure at least. This man was not Japanese.

Yamamoto moved away from the couch to get his first aid kit, knowing that he'd need to stop the bleeding and sling the man's arm if he didn't want a corpse on his hands. Washing his hands first (Yamamoto had at least paid attention a little in the short class he'd taken on medicine!), Yamamoto decided to deal with the cuts first. Even though the broken arm would be painful if the man woke up, it wasn't threatening his life like the cuts that were still bleeding were.

The man's pant legs were torn, so Yamamoto just ripped the rest of the fabric and pushed the man's jacket open so that he could access the cuts. Taking a small bottle of disinfectant, Yamamoto dabbed a little of it with a cotton ball on each of the man's wounds which included his forehead, his legs, and a particular worrying one straight down his front. The man twitched in his unconsciousness, most likely feeling the sting of the alcohol. Yamamoto then took long strips of gauze and dressed the wounds, making sure they stayed firmly in place as to effectively stop the bleeding.

Next, the bruises and the black eye would have to heal on their own, but the broken arm needed taking care of.

Yamamoto wasn't sure where the man's bone fracture was, but he decided to just do all he could possibly do with his medical knowledge. Taking a flat board, Yamamoto straightened the man's arm and placed it on top of the board. He then wrapped gauze around the entire arm and board until it was made into a makeshift cast. Yamamoto then used a piece of cloth to tie around the arm and the man's neck so the man couldn't easily move it and hurt himself.

When he was satisfied with his work, Yamamoto decided to leave the man to natural healing. And so he waited for consciousness as he lay on the floor and looked up at the man in slight worry.

He couldn't help but wonder what the man had done to get so beaten up like that.

* * *

Yamamoto must've fallen asleep at some point, because when he awoke a gun was pointed right in his face.

His eyes widening, Yamamoto immediately put his hands up in surrender as he stared down the barrel. He noticed that the gun was shaking a little bit and he looked up the gun to see the silver haired man pointing it at him. His gaze was hard, his voice mistrusting as he spoke.

"Move an inch and I'll kill you." He wasn't kidding at all; the gun was more than enough proof of that. The man had no accent, which made Yamamoto start to doubt his earlier assumption that the man wasn't Japanese. However, Yamamoto _did_ hear the pain in the man's voice as he started speaking again.

"Don't speak unless you're spoken too, or I won't hesitate to shoot. Who are you and what do you want from me?"

Yamamoto swallowed, looking back down at the end of the gun. If the man pulled the trigger, Yamamoto had no hopes of making it out alive. His heart was pounding in his chest from fear, but he stopped his body from shaking because he'd been told not to move.

"I'm Takeshi Yamamoto," he started out, proud that his voice wasn't shaking. "I play professional baseball with the Tokyo Giants and I found you passed out in an alley on my way back from practice. I couldn't just leave you injured like that, so I took you to my apartment to heal you. I figured you wouldn't want to be in a hospital…"

The man shoved his gun closer to Yamamoto's face.

"That wasn't what I asked," he growled. Yamamoto briefly wondered what he'd gotten himself into.

"I-I don't want anything from you… I just wanted to help you so that you wouldn't die…" Yamamoto said quietly, his voice starting to shake.

The man's glare pierced into Yamamoto and he realized that he was finally able to see the man's eyes. They were a sharp emerald green, matching beautifully with the rest of his looks. However, Yamamoto couldn't really enjoy staring at the man's beautiful face. He _was_ staring down a gun, after all.

To Yamamoto's relief, the man lowered his gun.

"… Fine. I won't kill you, for now. But if you try and pull anything, anything at all, I will kill you," the man growled before stuffing the gun back into his coat after putting the safety on. He then leaned back onto the couch. Yamamoto only then realized that the man's face was pale, even paler than his natural skin tone. He must be in a lot of pain.

Yamamoto figured that now that the gun was away, the rules the man had set on him earlier no longer applied.

"Can I get you some painkillers and a wet towel? You look like you're in pain and the towel will probably help the fever that you look like you have…" Yamamoto stated, worry coating his voice.

The man turned to glare at him, his gaze still distrusting. Yamamoto wondered why the man was being so cautious. For a second, Yamamoto thought the man would pull out his gun again, but thankfully he just turned his head to the ceiling.

"… only the wet towel. I can deal with a little pain," the man gritted out. It was a lot more pain than a little, Yamamoto knew, but it was probably better to not cross the silver haired man.

Getting up from the ground, and finally lowering his arms that had still been up in the surrendering position, Yamamoto walked into his bathroom to get a towel. He turned on the sink and dampened it before coming back out to the couch. He kneeled next to the man, who was watching him intently, and laid the towel across the man's forehead.

Yamamoto couldn't hold back a smile at the quiet relieved sigh he heard from the other man.

Still kneeling by the man's face, Yamamoto finally got to stare at the man as he closed his eyes. His face was so smooth and beautiful that Yamamoto had a strange urge to stroke the man's cheek. But he decided that that wouldn't be the best idea in the world.

Instead, he opted to start up conversation.

"What's your name?" Yamamoto asked, the question coming out more breathtaking than he'd intended.

This was probably what made the man give him a strange look. His look was wary, but then again he hadn't trusted Yamamoto the moment he'd woken up. Yamamoto wondered if he was stupid for thinking the man would actually supply him the answer to his question.

Eventually, though, a small mumble came out of the man's throat.

"… Gokudera…"

Yamamoto didn't even care that he didn't get the first name. At least he had something to call the man now.

"Gokudera is a beautiful name," Yamamoto announced happily. The man's cold glare shocked him and he looked down. Why was Gokudera so sour about everything? He'd complimented him, for crying out loud!

Suddenly realizing something, Yamamoto decided to change the subject.

"Are you hungry? I can make you something!" Yamamoto suggested. He really wanted to get Gokudera to trust him; after all, he'd be staying here for however long it took for his wounds to heal.

However, something told Yamamoto that reaching that goal wouldn't be easy.

"I'm not hungry," Gokudera grounded out. It sounded like every word out of his mouth was causing him great pain. However, as if to purposely counter his statement, Gokudera's stomach growled loudly.

Yamamoto pouted. He didn't like that Gokudera was trying to act all tough when he obviously needed a lot of care. Why couldn't he just except that he needed help and that Yamamoto was willing to give it to him?

"Well, I'm making you something anyway," Yamamoto insisted. He stood up again and started to head for his kitchen, different food he could make floating through his mind. He wondered what Gokudera would enjoy the most. If the man was even willing to eat it. Yamamoto had thought he'd heard a growl as he'd left.

As Yamamoto moved about the kitchen, he'd finally decided on making nikujaga which was a Japanese soup with vegetables and meat, a sudden shout and a loud whine came from the living room.

Dropping everything and rushing out of the kitchen, Yamamoto was faced with a strange sight.

Gokudera had slightly risen himself off the couch with his uninjured arm, leaning sideways as he glared at Yamamoto's shiba inu, Jirou. The innocent dog had walked over to the couch and was sniffing Gokudera curiously, his tail wagging a bit. The whines were coming from him, as Gokudera was literally _growling_ at the dog. Gokudera's stance was stiff and even the hairs on the back of his neck were standing upright as the threatening rumble came from his throat.

Wanting to break up the scene, Yamamoto rushed over and hugged his arms around Jirou. The shiba inu barked happily and licked his cheek as Yamamoto looked up at Gokudera pleadingly. He'd forgotten about his pet when he'd brought Gokudera here and he was now hoping to god that Gokudera liked animals.

"Gokudera, it's okay! This is just my dog, Jirou!" Yamamoto exclaimed, worry lacing his voice. He didn't want Gokudera shooting his dog.

Gokudera stopped growling, though he was still eyeing Jirou distrustfully. Yamamoto couldn't help but feel exasperated that the silver haired man couldn't even trust a dog. Eventually, though, he relaxed and lay back down on his back. He closed his eyes briefly before dropping his arm over the side of the couch. Jirou's ears perked and he walked over to the pale hand, sniffing it for a moment before licking it happily.

Yamamoto thought for the faintest moment that he could see a small smile on Gokudera's face as he scratched behind Jirou's ears. But then it was gone, making Yamamoto question if he'd even seen it in the first place.

**(A/N) Well, isn't Gokudera the mistrusting character ;D I'm really excited about writing this story; I like the plot I've come up with and hopefully you guys will, too! Gokudera's past is a mystery for now, but it will all be revealed in time. If I ever get to it, lol. For now, I'm going to focus on the other two stories I'm working on because three at a time will kill me with school just around the corner. I just had to get this out there so I can focus on my other stories now! See you soon and thanks for reading~**


	2. The Twitch

**(A/N) Heeey, look what I finally updated! :D First of all, I must apologize for disappearing for a while; school got **_**way**_** crazy and I could barely find time to even glance at my laptop! But I'm on summer break now, so updating should be much better, and I continued this like I promised! :3 I will also continue updating Unity, so, if you've been waiting for that as well, you won't have to wait much longer! :3**

**Okay, enough of that. This chapter officially starts the plot of the whole story, so I hope you guys enjoy! Also, I have a correction to make; in the previous chapter, I referred to Jirou as being a shiba inu. That is incorrect, he's actually an Akita, so I fixed that in this chapter :P Hopefully that doesn't confuse anyone!**

**Anyway, thanks for reading and being patient with my really bad updating habits! **

A week passed before Gokudera started acting strangely.

Not that his usual behavior wasn't strange. Every day he would wake up, try to sit up, and then growl in frustration when his wounds prevented him from doing so; like he'd forgotten that he'd been injured in the first place. Yamamoto would make him breakfast and, as much as he would've loved to stay home and make sure his distrustful visitor ate it, went to practice. When he came home, the breakfast he'd made would still be sitting on the table near the couch; untouched. A couple of times he'd had to shoo away Jirou, who had tried to snag a few bites of bacon.

Gokudera slept most of the time. His wounds prevented him from doing much else. When he was awake, he was cranky and rude. Yamamoto couldn't even count how many times they'd gotten into arguments over food, which usually ended in Gokudera spitting at him and throwing things until Yamamoto gave in and retreated to his bedroom.

In fact, the only thing that Gokudera allowed to come near him was Jirou. The friendly Akita seemed to have easily gained Gokudera's trust, which Yamamoto wished he could say about himself. The dog spent most of his time with Gokudera, making Yamamoto sometimes think that Gokudera was Jirou's owner instead of him.

Yamamoto sighed, pushing thoughts of his visitor out of his mind as he walked home from baseball practice. It was useless getting stressed and frustrated over something he couldn't do anything about. He refused to throw Gokudera out on the street (he was still injured, and his rudeness didn't change that), so he would just have to keep working to gain the silver-haired man's trust.

When he got back to his apartment, he was surprised to find the couch empty. He was even more surprised when he heard Jirou's nails skidding on the floor as the puppy came running out of his bedroom at a hundred miles an hour. The Akita plowed into Yamamoto's legs, barking frantically. Yamamoto leaned down to rub his puppy's ears to calm him, carefully scanning the room. What could've happened that had made Jirou so skittish? And where was Gokudera?

Standing up again, Yamamoto began to explore the apartment; Jirou shakily following him. Jirou had run out of his bedroom, so Yamamoto decided to begin his search there. He walked slowly, afraid of what he would find. The apartment was eerily quiet and, if Yamamoto really strained his scent glands, he could smell an odd odor. It smelled like forest leaves at the end of autumn and wet dog.

Yamamoto entered his bedroom.

The scent strengthened until it seemed to be coating the very air itself. The room seemed exactly the same as it had been that morning; the covers were half off the bed, the curtains were open, and one of the windows was open. As Yamamoto scanned the room, he nearly jumped out of his skin when he finally spotted Gokudera.

The silver-haired man was standing by the open window, his figure stiff and unmoving. He stared out the window with a blank look on his face, almost as if he were in some kind of trance. He was standing in the shadow of the tree outside of the window, which was why Yamamoto hadn't spotted him immediately.

As he moved closer, Yamamoto realized that Gokudera _was_ moving; occasionally his fingers would curl up and his shoulder would twitch like he had a tick. His skin looked like it was crawling, rippling and flexing as Gokudera continued to stare out the window. Yamamoto followed Gokudera's spaced out gaze; seeing nothing but the sky.

"Gokudera…?" Yamamoto called softly, his voice laced with concern.

His voice seemed to snap Gokudera out of his trance. The man stiffened, before whirling around so fast that Yamamoto had to step back in shock. Gokudera was breathing heavily as his body continued to twitch and convulse, though his eyes had a wild, crazed look to them.

"Close… the curtains…" Gokudera panted out, his glare focused dead on Yamamoto. Yamamoto suddenly had the feeling of a mouse; trapped by a hungry predator.

"Wh-what?" Yamamoto responded, his brain freezing with the rest of his body. He wanted so badly to look away from Gokudera's crazed eyes, but his body didn't seem to want to obey him.

"Close… the curtains!" Gokudera snarled as he took a shaky step forward; his body swaying unsteadily. It was almost as if something was pulling him downwards, and he was trying to fight it.

Yamamoto stepped back as Gokudera came forward until his back hit the wall. Gokudera was growling as he continued to advance, and Yamamoto was even more afraid than he had been when he was at gunpoint. His eyes hesitantly left Gokudera for a second to look at the far window. He obviously had to close the curtains if he wanted to stop Gokudera's odd behavior, but how could he when Gokudera was blocking the only way to them? Taking shaky breaths, Yamamoto knew he'd have to take a risk.

He waited until Gokudera was almost upon him before he moved; dashing as fast as he could for the window. He was sure that, if someone had been measuring, he would've beaten his original speed record in that moment. At his speed, he couldn't stop in time, so he crashed into the wall next to the window. He could hear Gokudera snarling behind him now, and he hastily reached up and drew the curtains over the window.

The room was shrouded in darkness and Yamamoto could feel his heart pounding in fear. In this darkness, it would be all too easy for Gokudera to attack him. However, with a start, Yamamoto realized that he couldn't hear snarling anymore. Instead, he heard heavy breathing and Jirou's soft whimpers. The odd scent that had been filling the air earlier was gone.

"… Yamamoto?"

The hoarse voice splitting the silence made Yamamoto jump, and he slowly turned around. As his eyes adjusted to the darkness, the baseball player could just make out the form of Gokudera. He had collapsed into a sitting position on the ground, his body slightly moving up and down as he breathed. The silver-haired man seemed to have stopped convulsing, except for the occasional twitch of his fingers. Yamamoto waited a moment before relaxing his body and slowly walking over to Gokudera, adrenaline still pumping through his veins from his fear. He had never felt that threatened and afraid in his entire life; not even when Gokudera had shoved a gun in his face on that first day.

"Gokudera, what-?"

"Close the curtains," Gokudera interrupted, repeating the crazed sentence. It made Yamamoto wonder if the other had really calmed down. "In the other rooms, I mean. Close the curtains."

When Yamamoto hesitated, Gokudera lifted his head and glared at Yamamoto. The baseball player was relieved to see that the crazed look had faded from those emerald green eyes; annoyance and something Yamamoto couldn't identify replacing it instead.

"Don't ask questions, just do it!" Gokudera snapped impatiently.

Yamamoto was all too eager to comply. Giving Gokudera a wide berth (though the crazed look had left the other's eyes, and he seemed to have calmed down, Yamamoto wasn't taking any chances), the scared baseball player practically ran out of his bedroom. He rushed towards all of the windows in his small apartment; yanking the curtains together to block the outside world. He still wasn't quite sure what had made Gokudera act like he was possessed, but, if closing the curtains helped, Yamamoto was more than happy to do it.

When he had closed the last curtain, the baseball player cautiously returned to his bedroom. Gokudera was lying on his side now, still panting heavily. When Yamamoto slowly approached the silver-haired man, he could see that the other's face was completely coated with sweat.

Yamamoto kneeled down in front of the other.

As Gokudera looked up at him, and Yamamoto scanned the other carefully, the baseball player noticed that the silver-haired man wasn't just drenched in sweat; the wound on his side had also opened again and was bleeding like crazy. Yamamoto sighed. The freshly growing scab must've split open when Gokudera had been convulsing earlier.

Yamamoto carefully caught Gokudera's eye.

"I'm going to have to bandage your side again." Because Gokudera was awake this time, Yamamoto knew he'd have to get the distrustful silver-haired man's permission before he could re-wrap the wound. Knowing Gokudera, he'd probably bite Yamamoto's hand if he tried to do anything without explanation.

Gokudera gave a tight nod, his leg jerking. Yamamoto took that as an affirmative, and left the room to get his medical supplies.

When he returned, Jirou had come out of his hiding place under the bed and was sniffing Gokudera cautiously. Gokudera shakily reached out his hand to let the Akita sniff it and, after the dog had done so, he seemed to be reassured that Gokudera was fine once more. He lay down by Gokudera's head, licking the man's face as his tail thumped against the floor. Yamamoto was thankful for his puppy; hopefully Jirou's presence would keep Gokudera calm while the baseball player redressed his wound.

As Yamamoto sat down, scrunched up Gokudera's shirt so that he could reach the wound, and set to work, he was surprised to hear Gokudera's voice. It wasn't a common practice of Gokudera's to speak to Yamamoto (unless he was shouting at him), making Yamamoto wonder what was so important that he was made to do so now.

"Yamamoto…" Gokudera croaked out, sounding like he'd just run a mile while gargling nails. "You aren't… going to ask about… what just happened?"

The baseball player stopped his work for a moment and looked over at Gokudera. The silver-haired man was staring intently at Jirou's wagging tail; almost as if he was trying his best to avoid Yamamoto's gaze. Yamamoto couldn't stop the amused grin that covered his face as he finished unwrapping the bloody bandage from around Gokudera's torso.

"I assumed you wouldn't tell me, even if I asked," Yamamoto replied, sending a sly smirk Gokudera's way.

Gokudera scoffed, and Yamamoto was astonished to see a tiny upwards curving of Gokudera's lips. Gokudera never smiled; and especially not in Yamamoto's presence. All of the sudden, Yamamoto felt a huge warmth spread through his body.

He was finally starting to gain Gokudera's trust!

* * *

By the time Yamamoto finished re-dressing Gokudera's wound, the silver-haired man had drifted into an uneasy sleep. He was still twitching, one of his limbs jerking occasionally. His entire body was coated in sweat, and sometimes he would emit weird, throaty growls.

Yamamoto decided that Gokudera would be more comfortable on the couch, so he nudged Jirou out of the way; the puppy still cuddling Gokudera's head with his body. Once the Akita had scampered off into the other room, Yamamoto picked Gokudera up bridal style; careful not to disturb the other's restless sleep. As he walked into the living room, and set Gokudera down on the couch, the silver-haired man's leg suddenly jerked out and hit Yamamoto right in his nether regions.

Gasping, Yamamoto fell back on his butt and just sat in intense pain for a moment. Tears of anguish formed in his eyes as he tried to breathe through the pain. If he hadn't known any better, Yamamoto would've been sure that Gokudera had done that on purpose.

When the pain finally subsided enough for him to move, Yamamoto shakily stood up and stumbled off into the kitchen. He got a towel and dampened it, coming back to the living room with the dripping cloth. Careful to avoid Gokudera's jerking legs, Yamamoto kneeled down by Gokudera's head and placed the cool cloth on the other's forehead. Yamamoto wasn't quite sure what was causing the other to sweat so much, but a damp towel couldn't hurt, right?

As he rubbed the wet towel across Gokudera's face, Yamamoto noticed that Gokudera's mouth was moving. Wondering if he was muttering something, Yamamoto leaned down so that his ear was right next to Gokudera's lips.

"T-Tsuna…" It was very faint, but Yamamoto heard it.

He sat back up in confusion. Why would Gokudera be dreaming about tuna? Perhaps he was hungry, after all those times that he refused to eat Yamamoto's food?

While he was lost in his thoughts, Gokudera started to stir back into consciousness. Realizing that now might be the only time he could test if Gokudera really was starting to trust him, Yamamoto ran into the kitchen; leaving the towel on Gokudera's forehead.

He quickly prepared some grilled cheese sandwiches and a tall glass of milk. He loved milk, so he hoped that Gokudera did too.

When he returned to the living room, Gokudera was awake. He was staring intently at the ceiling, almost as if he was trying his hardest not to think about something. Yamamoto decided not to ask and push his luck; it would already be a miracle if Gokudera accepted his food.

"Gokudera," Yamamoto called softly. The man's head snapped to look at him; his emerald green gaze intense. Yamamoto swallowed nervously, "I made some food… I know you don't want to eat it, but please! You're hungry; don't even try to lie to me about that. You were murmuring about tuna in your sleep, for God's sake! Please eat something! I swear it's not poisoned, or anything!"

Gokudera's gaze lingered on Yamamoto for a moment before it trailed down to look at the food. Instantly his face contorted into a disgusted sneer.

"I hate milk," he grumbled before he turned his back to Yamamoto and buried his face into the couch.

Yamamoto's heart sank. He was losing his only chance to feed Gokudera! He hurriedly rushed over to Jirou's empty water bowl and poured the milk into it. He knew that his puppy, at least, liked milk. He then returned to the couch and stood determinedly in front of Gokudera's back.

"You don't have to drink the milk! But at least eat one sandwich, or just half, or something!"

Yamamoto held his breath as he waited for Gokudera's response. This was the point in which usually Gokudera would start swearing at him and throwing whatever was in his reach. Yamamoto hoped that their relationship had at least evolved away from the silver-haired man throwing things.

Suddenly Yamamoto realized that Gokudera was convulsing again, and that the strong scent of forest leaves and wet dog had filled the air. Panic gripping his chest, Yamamoto set the food down on the table by the couch and quickly scanned the room. All of the curtains were drawn over the windows, so why…?

Deciding that he couldn't possibly find a solution, since he still didn't know what was causing Gokudera to convulse like this, Yamamoto decided to turn his attention to Gokudera. He cautiously kneeled down by the other and turned him over onto his back. Gokudera's eyes were closed tight, and his teeth clenched, as his body continued to convulse and his skin rippled intensely. His body was sweating even more than before, so Yamamoto picked up the towel that had fallen onto the floor and started wiping Gokudera's forehead again. It wasn't much, but Yamamoto didn't know what else he could do. He just hoped that Gokudera wouldn't go crazy again.

Eventually, Gokudera managed to stop convulsing. The silver-haired man's body collapsed, as if he'd lost the energy just to lie on the couch, and panted heavily. Yamamoto stayed by his side, dutifully wiping the sweat off of Gokudera's forehead.

Gokudera opened one of his eyes and looked over at Yamamoto.

"Fuck… I guess I'll eat your damn food…" He panted out; sounding like the very act of talking was sapping away his life energy.

Despite the situation, Yamamoto beamed with happiness. They were really progressing if Gokudera was becoming willing to eat his food. Yamamoto placed the wet towel on the table and brought the grilled cheese sandwiches over to where Gokudera could reach them. The silver-haired man rolled onto his side, cautiously picked up a sandwich, sniffed it, and, to Yamamoto's happiness, took a bite.


End file.
